


Days Like This

by ravenclawsdiadem (ravenclawsquill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Butch Millie, Dapper Suits, F/F, Femme Pansy, High Heels, Lesbian Character, Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Slytherin Common Room, Studying, Tailoring, Vaginal Fingering, brief reference to homophobia, short skirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-30 03:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20807528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawsquill/pseuds/ravenclawsdiadem
Summary: Pansy had heard the others talking about Millie's new style, claiming they'd always known she was a dyke, but Pansy was increasingly at a loss as to why that was a bad thing.It wasn't that Millie looked pretty – she didn't – but she certainly wasn't plain any more: she wasstriking.





	Days Like This

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of [HP Drizzle 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/drizzle_fest_2019), for Prompt #13: _The Slytherin common room is always quiet on days and nights when there are storms raging overhead._
> 
> I’d like to say a huge thank you to my beta, [Pauraque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/profile), for his excellent suggestions, all of which made this fic significantly better. 
> 
> I also want to tip my hat to [Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/profile) for their portrayal of Millie in [Independent Love Song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555220). It’s a wonderful fic and is entirely responsible for my headcanon of Millie as a talented butch tailor. I urge you to check it out if you haven’t already. 
> 
> Finally, thank you to our wonderful mod for all her time and effort spent running this fantastically diverse fest.

The Slytherin common room and dormitories were always quiet on days like this. Days where the sky turned to steel, where icy Scottish rain fell in sheets, letting the wind whip it into a tempest. Days like this were common at Hogwarts, especially as autumn gave way to winter, and whenever they came along, the Slytherins seemed to trickle upwards from the dungeons, towards the top floors of the castle.

Pansy supposed it was the drama. Her housemates had all manner of differences, but they all shared a flair for the dramatic. Draco, Blaise and Theo had headed for the library under the pretence of studying, but Pansy knew they secretly wanted to watch the lightning. Daphne and Tracey had made a dash for the Entrance Hall, with a less noble goal in mind: they were waiting to laugh at the bedraggled students arriving back from Hogsmeade. It was the sort of thing Pansy might have enjoyed a few years ago, but it seemed too childish a pastime for her now: such activities weren’t really appropriate for Sixth Years. Instead of joining them, she’d lingered in the dormitory, perfecting her make-up and choosing the best outfit for her afternoon plans.

Pansy eyed her reflection approvingly as she adjusted her skirt. She’d picked it up from Knockturn Alley the week before term started, and had been waiting for an opportunity to bring it out. She could never have worn it at home; her parents would have skinned her alive for showing off so much flesh. 

Today, however, was just the right occasion. She’d spent so long getting ready that she was already twenty minutes late to meet Eddie Carmichael. Not that it mattered: she knew he’d wait for her. 

Blaise had been taking the piss ever since he'd got wind of Pansy's latest conquest, but she'd never given a fuck what Blaise thought. If he couldn’t see the bigger picture, that was his loss. So what if Eddie was mind-numbingly dull and always had the remnants of his lunch stuck in his teeth? Pansy knew he was good at Transfiguration – as did everyone else, given his reputation for telling anyone who would listen about the nine O’s he’d earned in his OWLs – and she had no issue with taking one for the team in exchange for free tutoring. 

Satisfied her preparations were complete, Pansy left the dorm, the clack of her high heels echoing as she climbed the staircase up to the common room. Her parents disapproved of high heels even more than short skirts, but Pansy loved them: the sounds they made as they struck the floor, the way her walk changed when she wore them, the way people stared at her… When she wore heels, Pansy felt powerful.

When she reached the common room, she found it completely deserted aside from a familiar figure, hunched over a textbook by the underwater window.

Pansy had always been fond of that particular spot. The window was more of a wall, really: it spanned the entire width of the common room, and on brighter days the muted sunlight spilled through, stained a decadent emerald green from the algae in the lake. There was usually a steady stream of fish to be seen darting past, and – if you were lucky – the occasional glimpse of the Giant Squid. Today, though, the window was a wall of inky blackness, broken only by a knot of eels writhing in one corner.

Pansy crossed the room carefully; she'd seen far too many students slip on the smooth flagstones on days like this, and she had no intention of becoming one of them.

“Another date?” a voice asked wryly as she reached the doorway. “Which poor soul have you trapped this time?” 

“Hi Millie,” Pansy said, turning to look back at her. “Eddie Carmichael’s my victim today – I'm in need of a Transfiguration tutor."

Millie winced, just as Pansy expected. “Merlin. You must really want those NEWT grades.” 

Pansy flashed her a grin. “How do you know I don’t find him irresistibly sexy?” 

Millie shook her head, looking amused and perplexed in equal measure. "Oh, I wonder," she mused. "Probably because he isn’t sexy at all, particularly compared to your usual conquests. Even _I_ can see that." She gestured loosely at herself – her short hair, her smart shirt, buttoned all the way up to her throat – and added, "Not that _they’re_ my type, either. Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Pansy repeated, eyes lingering on Millie's crisp collar. “Well," she said after a long moment, "I should get going. I’m really late.” 

“Wait,” Millie interrupted, getting to her feet. 

Pansy frowned. "What?”

“Your hem.” Millie strode over and pointed to Pansy’s right thigh. “It’s hanging down.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Pansy hissed, instantly irritated. “It’s brand new, as well! I _knew_ that hag looked shifty when I bought it, the bitch. Top quality fabric, my arse." She reached down and felt along the edge of her skirt, trying to work out how much stitching had come undone. "I can't go out like this," she sighed. "I'll have to get changed.” 

“No need,” Millie said, crouching down to inspect the damage for herself, catching Pansy off guard when she reached out to touch the offending section of the skirt, the backs of her fingers grazing Pansy's bare thigh. “I can sew it if you want.” 

Pansy blinked. “Can you?” 

Millie raised an eyebrow and pointed at her shirt once again. “Do you think my shirts and jackets fit me like this off the rack? Of course I can. I’ll need more light than this, though,” she added. “Come over this way.” 

Pansy allowed Millie to lead her over to the nearest sofa; a green velvet two-seater near the fire, with elaborately carved wooden feet. It wasn't a large sofa, and it looked even smaller once Millie had sank down onto it. Pansy squeezed in next to her and was immediately conscious that her entire right side was pressed up against Millie’s body.

"It'll probably be easiest if you put your legs across my lap," Millie suggested, so nonchalantly it was as if they did this all the time.

Pansy nodded dazedly and turned in her seat, resting her legs across Millie’s immaculate grey trousers and angling her hips so the loose hem was within easy reach.

"That's better," Millie said. Pansy wasn't so sure. They certainly had more space now that their shoulders weren't wedged together like the books in the Restricted Section, but the increased contact – the unexpected intimacy – of the position was a little overwhelming.

It was enough to make Pansy nervous. That in itself was remarkable – Pansy hardly ever suffered with nerves – and had her legs been draped across Blaise, or Draco, or Eddie bloody Carmichael, she'd have been fine. But this wasn't one of her boyfriends: it was Millie.

They'd been dancing around each other for weeks; since the start of term, even, but Pansy couldn't have imagined it might lead to something like this.

While Pansy's heart began to race with anticipation, Millie seemed unfazed. 

“Have you got your wand?" she asked. "Oh, good. Cast a Lumos and point it here. Bit higher, slightly towards me … there we go."

She set to work with her own wand, carefully vanishing the loose thread and sealing the fabric with fine strands of magic, which, she assured Pansy, would hold more effectively than any physical thread.

With Millie's focus entirely consumed by the intricate spellwork, Pansy took the opportunity to look at her; to _really_ look at her, as she'd wanted to since the beginning of term.

Millie looked different this year. Pansy had always thought of her like everyone else did – chubby, plain, always looking uncomfortable in the ill-fitting school skirt she wore beneath her school robes. 

Something had happened to her over the summer, though. When she'd joined them on the Hogwarts Express this year, Millie had been wearing a suit and her once-lank mousey hair had been cropped into a quiff with the sides so short it put Greg's buzz cut to shame.

It was a striking look, and Millie's heavier build, so awkward in the past, only seemed to add to how much it suited her. If a boy had dressed like that, Pansy wouldn't have given him a second glance, but for some reason the sight of a girl adopting such a masculine style had captured her interest so completely that she couldn't look away. 

As the term had gone on, Pansy's fascination had only grown. She'd started to notice little details: the polished silver brooches Millie wore on the lapel of her blazer, her smart leather brogues, the way she'd opted for the boys' uniform this year, wearing tailored trousers under her robes.

Pansy had heard the others talking about Millie's new style, claiming they'd always known she was a dyke, but Pansy was increasingly at a loss as to why that was a bad thing.

It wasn't that Millie looked pretty – she didn't – but she certainly wasn't plain any more: she was _striking_. Suave, almost. Comfortable in her own skin. In fact, the new Millie owned her masculinity as thoroughly as Pansy embraced her reputation as a femme fatale, and it was captivating.

Millie's fingertips brushed past Pansy's thigh, bringing an abrupt end to her musings. Pansy looked down, distantly aware that she was biting her bottom lip. 

Millie's hands were warm and smooth, her nails cut so short there was barely any white to be seen. Her fingers worked quickly, effortlessly, like a spider spinning thread, as she tied off the final few magical stitches. When the last one had been cut, she laid both hands flat on Pansy's bare leg.

"There. All done."

Pansy made a show of inspecting Millie's handiwork, mainly to distract herself from the warmth of Millie's palms against her thigh – she didn't know a thing about sewing and doubted she’d have been able to tell even if Millie had done a terrible job. She flipped her hem back on itself, only to find that she couldn't even see where it ended and the inside of the skirt began.

"Merlin, you're good," she said. "You should be a tailor."

Millie smiled modestly. "I've had a lot of practice this year. Maybe it can be my backup if I don't get that Gringotts training contract."

Pansy hummed her agreement, and as she did, she inadvertently glanced down at Millie's hands, acknowledging the Erumpent in the room.

The common room was perfectly still for a long, charged moment. Pansy's heart thudded violently in her chest as Millie's eyes darted down to her legs, then back up to her face, searching for any sign of reluctance.

Seemingly satisfied, Millie leaned in. She paused at the last second, then nudged the tip of her nose against Pansy's. They stayed like that, rubbing their noses gently together, for a maddeningly long time.

Pansy had never wanted to be kissed so desperately in her life. She closed her eyes and waited for Millie's mouth to meet hers, but the kiss she was expecting didn't come. Instead, Millie's lips caressed her jawline, her earlobe, her cheek. 

"I don't want to smudge your lipstick," Millie murmured. "It looks too pretty to ruin."

Pansy's heart skipped a beat. She'd always been weak for compliments. "Kisses elsewhere are perfectly acceptable," she whispered, reaching up to touch Millie's hair. She didn't dare dishevel Millie's carefully styled quiff, so she touched the sides instead. They were shaved so short the hair felt prickly beneath her fingertips; a sensation she'd experienced before with boyfriends, though it had never sent a thrill through her body like this.

All the while, Millie continued to kiss Pansy's face and neck with a reverence which stole her breath. "More?" she asked.

Pansy nodded.

Millie's fingers slid up Pansy's leg, dipping beneath the newly sewn skirt. The smoothness of the movement took Pansy by surprise; there was none of the awkward fumbling she'd come to expect from past experience.

When Millie reached the top of Pansy’s thigh, she gave an appreciative hum as her fingers met Pansy’s lace knickers. “Very nice,” she breathed as she pushed them to one side. 

Pansy didn’t dare move; everything about this encounter felt fragile, surreal, and she’d never forgive herself if she did anything to bring it to an end. 

Millie was bolder. She picked up the kisses where she’d left off, nibbling Pansy’s earlobe as she moved her fingers beneath the lace knickers, tracing her thumb gently over the narrow strip of hair Pansy had trimmed only that morning.

"I knew you'd be neat," Millie murmured. "For some reason I expected you to be completely shaved, but this is much better."

Pansy swallowed. "You mean to say you've thought about me like this?"

Millie buried her face against Pansy's neck, right at the line of her sleek black bob. "Merlin, yes. Embarrassingly often."

Pansy let her eyes fall shut. She stifled a gasp as Millie’s hand eased fully into her knickers, cupping her gently as though she was a precious object. If Millie were to move her fingers even an inch lower, she’d feel that, even though they hadn’t so much as kissed properly, Pansy was wet for her. 

"How do you like to make yourself come?" Millie asked quietly.

Pansy opened her eyes. None of her boyfriends had ever asked her that question. “Sorry?”

"No need to be embarrassed," Millie said. "I just want to give you what you need."

"Honestly? I...”

“Go on,” Millie encouraged.

Pansy took a deep breath. “I usually, um, rub myself against my pillow," she heard herself say, feeling a blush heat her face as the words left her lips. She'd _never_ have told a boy that: the boys she knew all seemed to think that girls loved penetration above all else. It would be cruel to tarnish their fantasies for the sake of a one-off tumble.

Millie wasn’t disappointed at all; in fact, she laughed approvingly. "A girl after my own heart." She squeezed Pansy's leg. "I have an idea."

In one effortless movement she pulled Pansy onto her lap, guiding her into position so she was straddling Millie but facing away, towards the window. The rain must have been easing: the black void of the window had turned a murky green, a sure sign that the clouds outside were breaking up.

Pansy didn't have much time to enjoy the view, though; Millie's hands slipped around her body, following the waistband of her skirt, then came back down to the repaired hem. Millie lifted it carefully and pressed a lingering kiss to Pansy's nape.

“Ready?” 

“Yes,” Pansy whispered.

It was clearly what Millie had been hoping to hear. She pushed Pansy’s knickers aside and parted Pansy’s lips, no less nimble for not being able to see what she was doing.

Once she started, Pansy quickly realised that Millie was in no rush. She explored slowly, tracing a gentle fingertip along Pansy’s inner lips, up and over the hood of her clit until Pansy was so desperate for more she thought she might start begging.

It all changed, though, when Millie finally reached lower and felt the slick evidence of Pansy’s arousal. Her barely audible moan sent a fresh shot of desire through Pansy’s veins, and this time she wasn’t left wanting.

Millie’s fingers were even more skilled at this than they were at sewing. She circled Pansy's clit through its hood, pinching it, stroking and squeezing it with an ever-building pressure whilst always taking care not to touch it directly. 

Intense pleasure surged though Pansy’s body, white-hot and unstoppable. Her head fell back against Millie's shoulder as she gave herself over to it, fighting the impulse to roll her hips, to push forward against Millie's fingers, determined not to let herself spoil Millie's plan. It was exquisite, and all the more so because Millie never tried to put so much as a fingertip inside her.

Instead, Millie continued to stroke her, far past the point where she'd usually give up and reach for her pillow; until she was writhing in Millie’s lap, choking out broken words and gasping for breath as she reached for her orgasm.

"_Mmmph!_"

The sharp sob spilled from Pansy's lips as her climax hit, stronger than anything she’d ever felt with another person. She succumbed to the rhythmic pulse of her orgasm, her cunt throbbing with relief as she rode out the waves of pleasure to their very end, and all the while Millie’s voice was in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, how good she was, how much Millie wanted her.

No one had ever taken such care to maximise Pansy’s pleasure. If she was lucky enough to come from oral sex with one of her boyfriends, they’d stop as soon as she started to come. Millie did no such thing; she seemed determined to give Pansy every last bit of enjoyment.

It was perfect until in the space of an instant, the spell Millie’s fingers had cast came to an end. Pansy hissed and jolted away, muttering an apology. She was always over-sensitive right after an orgasm, especially after one as good as this.

"Sorry, I always do that," Millie sighed, keeping her hand still. "It's a fine line between stopping too soon and giving you a shock, isn't it?" 

"Yeah," Pansy agreed, wondering how many girls Millie had pleasured. Her tone suggested it might be quite a few; a thought which made Pansy feel strangely jealous. 

Millie moved her hand away gently and tugged Pansy’s lace knickers back into place, making sure not to nudge Pansy’s clit, and Pansy slid back off Millie’s lap, retaking her place on the little green sofa. It had felt tiny before, but now it felt much bigger – too big, if anything. She already missed the feeling of having Millie’s arms around her.

"So, Transfiguration," Millie said, reaching out to gently tuck a lock of hair behind Pansy’s ear.

Pansy blinked at the change of subject. “What about it?" she asked.

Millie rolled her eyes. "Eddie Carmichael isn't the only person who got an O at OWL. Some of us are just a bit more modest."

Pansy looked closely at Millie, trying to work out if she was joking. "...Are you offering to tutor me?"

"I am. Are you interested?” Millie asked, looking far more inquisitive than her casual tone suggested.

Pansy didn’t even try to suppress her grin. “That depends,” she said. “Will our sessions involve more of what just happened?"

Millie shrugged. "Only if you want them to."

“I do.” Pansy said firmly. “Shall we start right now?” 

For a moment Millie looked pleasantly surprised, but she quickly recovered. “Why not?”

Pansy stood up, kicked off her heels and padded downstairs to fetch her textbook. Her mind raced as she searched through her stacks of notes for a clean piece of parchment, but she didn’t spare poor Eddie – still pacing dejectedly outside the Great Hall – a second thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always wonderful - I'd love to know what you thought!


End file.
